Also visit: rpandrewsgayfiction.com

Boys Don’t Cry: Are We Adult Males Or Love Sick Adolescent Girls?

Most of the guys I hang out with are str8-gays like me. Only, Jesus! The same 40+ guys who in one breath ramble on about football, the political airheads in Washington, or how their cunty ex-wives took them to the cleaners, thirty seconds later will be pinning away about some hottie they have a heavy duty crush on but who hasn’t reciprocated – yet.

I got my Bud Bill who’s been caring the torch for a guy he met in his condo complex. And I have to admit the guy is still a good looker at 52, but has played the role of cock tease par excellence, holding Bill’s hand or rubbing his neck when they watch TV, or calling Bill while we’re out carousing to find what he’s doing (the more appropriate question for Bill would be who). I tell Bill to lay it out the line with Ralph and tell him how he feels about him, but Bill’s afraid of “rejection.” So this charade goes on and on, like some perpetual foreplay without a climax. My take: if Ralph wanted Bill sexually they would have been in bed a long, long time ago. Plus, and I know I sound like a fuck when I say this, Ralph has AIDS and is beginning to suffer some of the disease’s irreversible effects, cocktail or no cocktail. Do you really want to force yourself on someone whose ass you may be wiping a few years from now when you’re at the age when you’ll soon need the ass wiper?

Then there’s Sid and Moses. Moses has a thing, a deep thing for Sid and Sid, who respects and truly enjoys their friendship, has told Moses ten ways to Sunday that he likes him as a friend, but only as a friend. Period. Does Moses get the message? No, instead when Sid does something (like talk about a trick, real or sought after), Moses, who has his name on one of the gloryholes at Slammers, pouts like a hurt little girl whose Ken doll was taken away from her.

Hell, even I was falling for a humpy little guy (like me) from Jacksonsville who I thought would be my Love of the Decade. Maybe I should leave my partner? Maybe sell my house and go up to JAX to live with my love? It all seemed dewy-eyed possible until he asked me to co-sign a mortgage on the house he had just bought. Hey, I ain’t co-mingling my stellar credit rating with a guy I barely know and who I fucked only three or four times. Now if I had fucked him a dozen times before he asked me, maybe there would be room for negotiations.

So what’s the lesson to be learned here?

Read my lips: If a guy doesn’t want you, he just doesn’t want you. There’s no point trying to make something work that won’t. Nor should you delude yourself into thinking it’s love when deep down in your gut you know the guy wants you for what you can do for him, not for you.

So what should you do?

Find a distraction. Preferably quick, down and dirty, pure unadulterated, unbridled sex. Or adopt a pet gerbil. Or volunteer in a nursing home so you feel young again.